


Aftershocks

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Inline with canon, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Drift, Public Display of Affection, Rough Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:56:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hermann has to stumble away because the Drift is still too fresh and he can’t tell the heat of Newton’s body apart from his own anymore." The impact of the Drift hits Hermann, and he and Newt don't make it back to the laboratory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftershocks

They don’t even make it back to the laboratory.

That’s Hermann’s goal, after the mad scramble to convey the critical information is over and the first flush of success has washed over them and ebbed away again. He is certain  _he_  has the restraint, or did originally, but Newton drops his arm around the other’s shoulders and then doesn’t move away, not when Hermann expects and certainly not after what would be an acceptable period of time, and no one is watching them but Hermann can feel the heat of that contact flaring hotter with each passing second, and eventually he has to stumble away because the Drift is still too fresh and he can’t tell the heat of Newton’s body apart from his own anymore.

“Hermann,” Newton calls after him, and Hermann doesn’t even bother with his rote protest at the casual name. He has to get away, away from Newton or at least away from the audience, his hand is shaking against his cane and his knees are trembling with far more than disability and he’s not sure what he’ll do if they stay together.

Even moving as fast as Hermann can manage Newton is faster on his feet, could catch him up with hardly an effort, and however exhausted the other may be he’s not  _that_  tired. But he falls into step with Hermann, hovering over his shoulder instead of at his side, and Hermann can recognize his own restraint in that, borrowed care overriding Newton’s headlong recklessness for this moment. They’re moving against the flow of people, away from the nucleus of celebration forming behind them, and Hermann is glad for their shared reputation that no one stops them or even looks askance; it’s just the pair of eccentrics again, in the midst of some theory or argument that no one else can be bothered with.

Hermann doesn’t know if it’s the Drift influence rubbing thin that pushes Newton forward at his elbow, or if it’s just their mutual impatience riding too high to be resisted. His own heartbeat is coming too fast, certainly, pounding against his chest until he’s winded all over again from more than the exercise. Everything in him is twisting tight, like the threat of a cramp in a muscle too-long strained, and when Newton’s wrist bumps his elbow he can feel the jolt snap through him straight through the layers of his clothing.

He pivots on his good heel, swings his bad leg around as he has learned to do when he’s trying to maneuver quickly, and Newton must have been expecting this because he doesn’t run headlong into him, he’s stopping and reaching for Hermann’s far shoulder before the other has even started to turn. One of Hermann’s hands is busy bracing against his cane but his other is free, he’s reaching out for the bloodstained collar of Newton’s awful filthy shirt and they’re crashing into each other, neither pulling back their velocity before their lips crush bruises against the others’. It’s Hermann that takes a stumbling step forward, Newton who reels and catches the balance for both of them, but neither tries to pull away, and Newton’s fingers are closed just as hard at Hermann’s jacket as Hermann’s are dragging at his shirt. Hermann isn’t sure which of them opens his mouth first; maybe it’s in sync, an afterimage from the Drift or just mutual desperation but either way his tongue is burning with the lingering taste of what must be Kaiju blood and Newton is licking over his lips and there’s no way Hermann tastes any better but it doesn’t matter anyway. Under the burn and bite there’s Newton himself, all heat and adrenaline and faint acidity, and Hermann didn’t know he could identify the other’s taste but he knows it now, as surely as he knows the ache in his knee or the texture of his cane. His fingers drag sideways, he’s pulling at the collar of Newton’s shirt but Newton has beat him to it, he’s dragging Hermann’s tie loose and fumbling with the top button at his throat. He can’t manage it one-handed, and his other is still desperate in Hermann’s coat, but his fingers are slipping under the fabric anyway, pinning uncomfortable tension against Hermann’s pulse and setting his whole skin to burning and aching with want. Newton is shoving back at him and Hermann is pressing back just as hard, like they’re fighting to occupy the same space more than they are kissing, but Newton is humming in the back of his throat and Hermann has lost the thread of all his predictions and all his expectations.

Newton’s the one to finally fall back, to retreat by a breath so he can gasp all Hermann’s air away from his lips. Hermann’s fingernails are scraping against collarbone, forcing sensation against Newton’s skin, and he’s certain his hold on the other’s shirt is the only thing keeping him reasonably upright, and still when he opens his mouth what comes out is, “You taste  _disgusting_ , Newton.”

“Well excuse me,” Newton says, and he sounds shattered, breathless and panting and making no attempt or at least no successful attempt to level the heat in his voice into reason. It electrifies Hermann, jolts down his spine so he goes briefly breathless as Newton goes on, “You’re not particularly clean yourself, you know.”

Hermann’s spine stiffens, pride surging in to crash up against the tremors of desire running through him, and when he speaks it’s snappish and as icy as he can make it under the circumstances. “If you’d prefer to stop I’m certainly not going to hold you here.”

“Fuck no I don’t want to stop,” Newton says, and his mouth is against Hermann’s again before the other has finished taking a breath.

There’s still a few people left in the corridors, latecomers and stragglers, and Hermann knows with certainty that they will be seen, that someone will glimpse them making out like teenagers in the middle of the hallway and that within a few minutes whatever secrecy they might maintain will be lost entirely. But Newton is humming again, his fingers are still threading inside Hermann’s collar in a desperate bid for contact, and when Hermann shuts his eyes everything else -- concerns and embarrassment and self-consciousness -- slides away like it’s a memory in the Drift.

He lets it go. There’s something to be said for impulsivity, after all.


End file.
